


A Coming Of Godhood Story

by thepetulantpen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-typical shenanigans, Gen, mention of temporary past canonical character death, traveler-typical shenanigans, yes all of those things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen
Summary: “I know what you want.”The green cloak chuckles and a pair of green eyes peers out of the darkness, piercing through the shadows that conceal the rest of his features. He winks at the Raven Queen then shifts so the hood covers his eyes again, showing only his smirk.“That makes this considerably easier—““I did not say I would give it to you.”(in which the Traveler does favors for the Mighty Nein and makes some friends along the way)
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & The Traveler
Comments: 16
Kudos: 117





	1. The Raven Queen

The Raven Queen is accustomed to solitude. She is alone when she wants to be and when she doesn’t want to be, lonely when she is with people and when she is not, by herself before and after Vax.

Before and after any champion at all, even Purvan.

It’s in her nature to be alone. Death is a lonely thing- nobody wants anything to do with it, until it has something to do with them. Which makes it incredibly rare to have an unfamiliar man in her chambers. Nobody comes here without invitation, and nobody gets invited.

Then again, he’s not _physically_ here. The man, if she continues to call it that, is little more than a flicker of green light in the shape of a person. He’s trying to be solid, but the veil’s resistance is fighting him. Attempting to come here directly from the mortal world is a ballsy move- and unhealthy, if he wishes to remain mortal.

“-elp! Rave-“

She’ll never get anything done if all this shouting continues, but she doubts getting up will be much better. Another distorted shout, cut apart and warped so the words are rendered entirely unrecognizable, makes the decision for her. This isn’t what she signed up for, after going through great pains to get her divine position, but the sooner she deals with it, the sooner the noise will stop.

At the very least, there’s potential for this to be amusing. Mortals have only gotten more complicated over the years, and they never seem to stop.

The man must see her stand because he shuffles forward, limbs shattering into particles as he moves. His hand reaches out, vying for anything that could pull him over, make him solid.

She takes his hand and _pulls_ ; it takes less effort than she imagined for him to cross over. Once he’s standing at the foot of her throne, as solid as her and standing close enough to touch, she realizes this is no man.

Where the translucent green shape was, now stands a humanoid in a green cloak, hood obscuring all of his face except for a wicked smirk inset on pale skin. The green energy does not disappear, just disperses to outline his shape, sparking and reacting with the dark shadows spread throughout her chambers.

She is used to looking down on humans, and even the longer-lived races, as passing blurs, mere flickers in her eternity. This one is different, his very presence drawing her attention, taking up just a bit more space, a bit more air, a bit _more_ than she’s accustomed to.

It’s familiar, like a mirror of herself long ago. It’s not possible.

And yet here he is. Glowing with something divine and not quite his.

He grins up at the Raven Queen then bows, dramatically. “Matron of Ravens! I seek your council and assistance.”

She rolls her eyes, gone unseen in the shadow of her mask. She’s no fool, she’s seen this type- despite the oddness of his arrival, everyone wants the same thing when they come to her door with a bargain. Settling back on her throne, she takes her usual form, towering over her new guest. The porcelain mask goes still, frozen in the face of strangers, but ready to bend to her will.

“I know what you want.”

The green cloak chuckles and a pair of green eyes peers out of the darkness, piercing through the shadows that conceal the rest of his features. He winks at the Raven Queen then shifts so the hood covers his eyes again, showing only his smirk.

“That makes this considerably easier—“

“I did not say I would give it to you.”

His grin widens at that and he relaxes even further, leaning nonchalantly against the air, as if there was a wall to prop himself up on.

“I thought you’d say that, which is why I’ve brought something to trade you.” A light shines across his teeth, despite the only source being dim torchlight behind the Queen. “A deal you cannot refuse.”

The Raven Queen smiles behind her mask, charmed by the audacity of this young man- young _god_ , rather. It shouldn’t be possible for someone new to come to power now; though, that’s what they said about her, when she ascended. But that was before the books were burned, so the proper rites couldn’t be performed. This doesn’t _feel_ like the atrocity Vecna was. What could be giving one mortal the power of a god, right under their noses?

Enough power to confidently charge into the Raven Queen’s chambers and start demanding a trade- she’d certainly like to see the source of that.

“Is that right? What treasure do you believe matches the worth of a soul, hm?”

Standing straighter, the stranger snaps his fingers and a small object drops into his waiting palm, appearing to the Raven Queen as a brief flash of white. He takes it between his fingers and holds it up for her to see... a bone.

A very important, very lost bone.

“The pinkie bone of Purvan! A little worn down by the sands, but mostly intact—“

The Raven Queen rises from her throne and all the ambient noise in the chamber quiets. The faint sounds of blood dripping and ravens cawing disappear, leaving her ears ringing with silence.

“Where did you find that?

An ordinary man would’ve turned to dust at her tone, but he stands firm, albeit a little intimidated- he knows that she has old power, much older than his. Not a complete idiot, just acting like one.

“Right where it was left, of course.” His eyes are bright with unnatural light, manic alongside his too wide smile. He meets her gaze without flinching, hand absently twirling the ancient bone. “In the rolling, lovely chaos of Pandemonium.”

The Raven Queen sits back down, putting her hand to her temple- an ineffective gesture, given that there’s a barrier of porcelain. _Trickster gods, so much more trouble than they’re worth._

“It’s not that simple. They have to want to come back, there are rituals for a reason—"

He cuts her off with a dismissive hand wave that tempts her to violence, something she hasn’t bothered with in decades. She imagines if she could see his face, he’d be raising his eyebrows.

“Do you honestly believe Mollymauk has any qualms about coming back from the dead?”

There’s a sound like rustling feathers, but much louder, and then the Raven Queen is standing behind her intruder, taking a form just a few feet taller than him. He doesn’t startle, but the smugness of his posture fades, replaced by a tense calm- confident but prepared for anything.

She bends forward, close to his ear, and the mask smiles, porcelain animating to her will. “And what do you, young god, want with Mollymauk’s soul?”

His head turns partially towards her and she sees the outline of a face, angular and strange, for a second, before the cloak moves back into place.

“It’s a favor for a friend, of sorts. She wants him back and breathing.”

The Raven Queen hums, the usual protests coming to mind. It’s not right to release a soul without the proper methods, especially not in exchange for her own interests, but Mollymauk is a little too... energetic for his final rest. ~~~~

Besides, she’s suspected for a while that it wasn’t his time- they’ve gotten it wrong before, after all. This could be fated- in fact, she’s going to assume it’s fated, for the sake of her own sanity. What is fate, really, if not a god showing up and insisting you be brought back to life?

“I suppose this trade would be beneficial for both of us. But,” she sweeps in front of him and stares down, her feathered mantle casting a grim shadow, “ _nobody_ else can hear about this. I don’t make exceptions often and don’t intend to give out souls to anyone with a decent artifact.”

It’s not just a _decent_ artifact, they both know that, but it’s best to keep up appearances, even if they’re transparent. He holds out a hand, covered in an emerald green glove, and the Raven Queen takes it, with a quick, formal shake.

“It’s a deal- I won’t tell a soul.”

Smothering a groan, the Raven Queen focuses on summoning the soul in question, bringing it to her hand in the form of a bright purple light. As she concentrates on it, it slowly solidifies into a glowing stone. She holds out her hand for the bone and, as soon as it’s dropped into her palm, hands over Mollymauk’s soul, ready for transport into the mortal realm.

“Thank you for the audience, my lady. I’ll be on my way now.”

With a wave, he begins to disappear, glowing green and turning transparent. The Raven Queen stops him with a firm hand around his wrist, her power easily rivaling his, especially in her own domain.

“You can’t leave without even introducing yourself. What shall I call you?”

His smile floats in the shadow under his cloak, riding the line between creepy, with no face accompanying it, and comforting, serving as a light in the dark.

“The Traveler. You’ll know it soon enough.”

With that, his magic pulls away and the Raven Queen lets him go, shaking her head.

They’ll need to keep an eye on this new god, see that he turns out alright. They say it takes a village- or a pantheon, in this case- and the Raven Queen has a personal curiosity for new divinity. As the newest of the established gods, the last mortal to ascend, she has a vested interest in learning how the Traveler managed to do it and in ensuring the power doesn’t corrupt him. He may be divine, but there’s a lot more to godhood than magic and a handful of followers.

Still, she’ll have to be careful- based on his performance today, she may have been underestimating him. If someone so powerful has stayed out of their sight for this long, he’s likely more clever than he’s been given credit for.

The Traveler could be a wonderful blessing or a terrible curse. They’ll just have to wait and see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This rough draft is complete- I'll be posting the remaining chapters either daily, or every few days. School has just started up again, so I'm going to be getting busy. Hopefully I'll still be able to keep a schedule. 
> 
> If you didn't get the idea, each chapter will be a different god- or "god", in some cases. Hope you enjoy it!


	2. The Knowing Mistress

Ioun is old. Old, like most of her fellow gods, and weathered with age, unlike most of her fellow gods.

Whether by choice or circumstance, Ioun isn’t eternally young, eternally beautiful. Her age has made her recognizable and she appreciates the things that come with it: independence, wisdom, patience.

Lots of patience.

It’s a requirement in her line of work. A champion is never perfect, must always be molded to reach their greatest potential. Storytellers, as a whole, tend to need a lot of molding.

Ioun knows how to deal with youth and mischief. The Traveler’s antics are not more than she can handle- or so she believed, before a tingle in the back of her head lets her know that a large section her books have been rearranged into a disorganized mess.

She stares down at the young god, who appears in a flash of green light, and scrutinizes his innocent smile. Her annoyance is almost- _almost_ \- outweighed by her surprise. It’s no small matter to manipulate another god’s domain on such a large scale without even moving.

The Raven Queen was right- they have been severely underestimating this Traveler.

“Ioun! My lady,” he bows deeply, nearly crossing the line from sincerity to mocking, “it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Ioun hums in what could generously be called agreement, preoccupied with studying him- frustratingly, there isn’t much to see, just a green cloak and a smile. “The Traveler, is it?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me already? They don’t call you the Mistress of Knowledge for nothing.”

She doesn’t deserve credit for that- the Raven Queen is responsible for spreading word of the Traveler, after their little encounter. For all the gods play at being islands, immovable towers that stand on their own, they bite at any chance to share gossip. Nonetheless, she sits back on her throne, straightening her cloak and scarves, and pretends he’s right in assuming she’s in the know purely of her own power.

“No, they don’t,” Ioun tilts her head, sending a wave through the scarves wrapped around her as she turns to look at the rearranged books, sticking out in the vast library surrounding them, “And they don’t call you a trickster for nothing. What do you want?”

The Traveler’s smile widens, showing bright-white un-pointed teeth. Normal, aside from the unnerving way his hood always shadows the right amount of his face, just short of his smile.

He leans against one of the book shelves, plucking a book from its place and inspecting it. Her warning glare goes completely ignored, but he doesn’t make an attempt to damage anything. Not entirely foolish- or, at the very least, not suicidal.

“We have mutual interest in a follower. Technically, _your_ follower, who’s a friend of _my_ follower, and, thus, an honorary follower of _mine_.” He tilts his head, copying her. “You following me?”

“I fail to see how this answers my question.”

He frowns, annoyed; as if _she’s_ the one being deliberately obtuse. After a moment, presumably accompanied by a facial expression she can’t see, he sighs, in surrender- to _what_ , she’s not sure.

“It’s a simple request. Well within your power.” The grin that crosses his face, sharp even in the absence of fangs, is not at all reassuring. “She just needs a sign. Something to make her feel special.”

It takes a beat for Ioun to understand what he’s asking for, and when she does, she’s dumbfounded. A _sign_ , something so simple, so vague? Who could be so important?

“Many of my followers- and, for that matter, the followers of every other god- want a sign. Why did you come all this way for one girl?”

“Well, my original plan was to send my own sign and pretend it was from you, but I figured it’d be polite to ask first. I’m told I should be making connections with my fellow gods, and that plagiarism would not make a good first impression.”

He scoffs and puts down his book to cross his arms. Petulant, like a child being told off- which begs the question of _who_ is telling him off, and _why_ he cares to listen.

Ioun raises an eyebrow but the Traveler’s smile only widens, not even slightly abashed. Oddly self-assured, for an entity so young- as far they know. She doubts he understands what a god like herself could do to him- but then, she’s not going around starting any battles. She’s had enough of those for many, many lifetimes.

Connections aren’t her specialty. She’s existed this long on her necessity, her symbols and worship too ingrained to be uprooted entirely, and there’s been no need to make allies, in times of peace. Still, there’s something to be said for helping each other in measured efforts- especially someone new, someone that can still be shaped by kindness.

“Who did you have in mind?”

He seems to consider this a victory, shifting into a more confident pose, hands in his pockets. “Beauregard Lionett.”

The name is difficult to place, as Ioun takes a minute to rifle through a mental catalogue. Beauregard is mentioned in a footnote- a few footnotes, actually- of the Cobalt Soul, a follower by association more than passion. Not much of a worshipper, but she’s got the makings of a hero, that’s undeniable.

It _is_ an easy request. It couldn’t hurt.

The Traveler steps forward, hand outstretched to her, though he’d never reach her while she’s towering over him on her throne. “Do we have a deal?”

She pauses, not fond of how he phrases it. “A deal implies I’m getting something out of this.”

“It’s _your_ follower, my dear. Surely expanding the faith is part of your job description?” He lifts his hand out of the impractical handshake, and up, placating. “Not to tell you how to do your job.”

She suspects he couldn’t, even if he tried. He puts on a good show, but if her records are accurate- and they are- he’s young for a god. It shows in the roundabout manner he does things, inefficient and lacking experience.

She’s certain the Traveler is an amateur, barely free of his mortality. The only thing she isn’t sure of- a very short list, she’ll note- is how he came to be. Her collection of histories doesn’t tell his story, his identity murky even to her eyes. No major event, no massive upheaval of power- the Traveler seems to have grown slowly, just out of their peripheral.

There’s nothing to indicate that he’ll be a problem; quite the opposite, if he’s making the rounds with the pantheon, seeking friends. Maybe she’ll return the sentiment, grant him this little favor as a show of compatriotism. The damage he could do is negligible, at best.

“It’ll be done.”

She waves a hand to dismiss him, intending to force him out if he doesn’t leave himself. It’s not necessary; he disappears with a swish of his cloak and a smile, its afterimage lingering in his absence.

All that’s left to do is organize a minor miracle- and reorganize her library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ioun has always been my secret favorite, but that might just be the Scanlan fan in me talking. I'm playing fast and loose with some of my interpretations of gods here- you'll have to suspend your disbelief and assume there's some way that Ioun hasn't connected the dots between the Traveler and Artagan. All for the sake of plot.


	3. The Stormlord

There’s a good reason the Traveler doesn’t usually make these appearances himself. Several good reasons, actually, a number of which he’s currently being reminded of. The wind, the rain, the cold- he’s not going to be dry for weeks, and he’s a _god_ , capable of many arcane miracles.

He can barely see, with the damn cloak blowing in the wind, getting in his face. He’s lucky there’s not much to look at, just a massive ball of light and Yasha grappling with it.

Contrary to popular belief, he understands the point of these trials- even understands the appeal, to an extent- but it’s something he’s never concerned himself with. It seems like a lot of work, and he’s busy enough as is. Besides, he hasn’t had to ask Jester to prove herself- she does a good job of it all on her own.

Yasha doesn’t look very confident as she wrestles with the lightning creature. Kord, as far as he’s aware, is a difficult one- vaguely, the Traveler recalls Grog nearly becoming one of his acolytes, if you could call Grog an acolyte of anything- and earning your place can be tricky, especially for those who haven’t quite found themselves.

The Traveler, as a rule, doesn’t get directly involved when he doesn’t have to, but he’ll make an exception this time. Meddling with other gods and their trials sounds like something he shouldn’t do- which makes it that much more appealing- but helping Yasha is what Jester would want. He’s making a habit of rewarding his most trusted follower.

The lightning gets the upper hand again, forcing Yasha against the rail of the ship. If he squints, he can see the outline of a larger creature, but he can’t tell whether it’s an illusion for Yasha’s sake, or its true form. It probably doesn’t matter.

Battles are decided in moments, dependent on fickle things like concentration and destroyed by simple things like distraction. Finding something that will work on literal lightning is challenging, but tapping the creature on its… shoulder does the trick, making it flinch and turn towards the flash of green as the Traveler disappears again.

Some would call that minimal effort, but the Traveler would call it working smart. Yasha only needs the creature to be distracted for a second, missing a key strike or two, to regain her advantage, dispelling the lightning with a slash of greatsword. The Traveler watches from across the deck, clapping soundlessly in the space between the physical world and the immaterial, where he’s completely shielded from view.

When Jester rushes in to heal her, the Traveler goes with her, a silent, weightless hand on her shoulder to lend a little more strength. Jester is the conduit, turning his energy into something bright, something that _heals_ \- he never managed that, on his own. Not for anyone but himself.

It feels like a job well-done. He starts to leave, off to make mischief and await Jester’s next journal entry, but the wind picks up and the rain comes in at a more violent angle. He’s nearly blinded by the water in his eyes and the wind makes him lose his balance, taking him off his feet entirely.

When he meets the ground again, he’s not on the ship. In fact, he’s not even on the ground- there are clouds beneath his boots, and an odd sensation of weightlessness makes him dizzy. It’s unnerving, like he’s constantly in danger of falling through, with the ground not dense enough to support him.

“I was warned of your brazenness, but I didn’t think you’d interfere with _my_ business.”

The Traveler tenses, adjusting his now very soggy cloak before looking up at the Stormlord, Kord. Just as intimidating as they say, sitting on his throne of angry, grey clouds.

“ _Warnings_? I’m flattered that I’ve caught the attention of giants, like yourself.” He winks, letting his eyes show for just a moment. “I’ll take brazen as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.” Kord runs a hand through his beard- very impressive, if not in the Traveler’s taste. It’s made of clouds and impossible to mess with, which is excellent, if unintentional, foresight on his part. “This isn’t a good way to make friends.”

Kord’s words of wisdom go over the Traveler’s head; honestly, he’s already looking for a way out of here. it wouldn’t be too hard, if he put his mind to it- he’s pulled off grander escapes. Kord must have better things to do than force him to stay for a lecture about friendship.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He half-turns to leave, intending to teleport and hope for the best, but the clouds beneath his feet turn a dark grey, thinning threateningly. Looking up, despite his face being covered by his hood, he tries to sound polite, “Did you need anything else?”

Kord sighs and his form appears beside the Traveler, in a more proportionate size. Still massive, by a mortal’s standards- the Traveler is tempted to increase his own size, just to be irritating. He’s noticed all gods manifest their superiority complex like this- wouldn’t it be more convenient, less effort, to just be a _normal_ size?

“I know you’re looking out for her, but she has to do this herself. You understand?”

The Traveler never thought there’d come a day when he’d complain about getting too much credit, but he’s long surpassed it by now. He can’t do anything without it being picked apart for motive- it’s draining. Sometimes you just _do_ things, consequences and gods be damned.

Regardless, he smiles up at the Stormlord. “I understand.”

Kord doesn’t look convinced- not as much of an idiot as he’s made out to be- but that’s not the Traveler’s problem. What Kord thinks of him isn’t any skin off his back.

One last look, sizing the Traveler up, and Kord frowns, apparently unsatisfied with the few details he finds. He turns away, back towards his seat, and waves the Traveler off. “Stay out of my business.”

And with that, the cloud cover drops out from under the Traveler, hurling him into the storm-torn air above the churning waves of the ocean. He doesn’t react fast enough to avoid getting snatched up by the currents, spun around like a drowned animal.

Shaking water out of his cloak and picking seaweed out of his hair, he reconsiders his plans, knowing that _this_ is what he gets for doing a good deed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter from the Traveler's pov! There'll be a few of these- though I focused mostly on exploring the other gods and their characters. 
> 
> Sorry for the short chapters- I would've combined them, but I thought it'd make more sense separating them this way. Fair warning that there'll likely be delays in uploading the rest of these, as I might not have time to edit in between finishing my english assignments. Apologies in advance, but I hope you enjoy what I've posted so far!


	4. The Moonweaver

“I was wondering when you’d visit me.”

Sehanine reclines against a tree, draped elegantly over a branch so the moon hovers just over her shoulder. She shifts the moonlight slightly, aiming it for her new guest. The light lands where she directs it and he raises a hand to shield his eyes, but the shadows beneath the cloak are unaffected.

Darkness shrouds most of his face, with the exception of his smile, which shines in the moonlight. “That’s a neat trick. I have a few of my own, but I don’t have time to demonstrate.”

“You’re not here for leisure?” She weaves together strands of light, forming a staircase that helps her down from the tree, so she can stand in front of the Traveler. “I can’t imagine I have anything you want, not like the company you’ve been keeping.”

“I wouldn’t call them company. Besides,” his head tilts and the cloak moves with it, but the shadows, stubbornly, remain where they are, “I haven’t met any gods as lovely as you.”

He holds out a hand to take hers and she allows it, giggling as he delicately kisses the back of her hand. When he tries to pull back, she grabs his hand and tugs him forward, close to her. She’s just inches from his face now, but she can’t see through the shadow. He looks down, letting the hood fall further over his face, and shuffles back a half-step, as far as he can get.

“Traveler, darling. I thought you’d have more impressive material than simple flattery.”

His smile isn’t visible anymore, but she hears it in his voice, “Of course. I should’ve known a goddess of your renown would have countless suitors and compliments at her disposal.”

She releases him, watching as he shrinks back immediately. His hands, covered in gloves matching the green of his cloak, pull out of his long sleeves to readjust the hood- unnecessarily, as it never seems to drift without him wanting it to.

“You’d be right. And not a single one of those suitors have dared to hide their face from me.”

“Is that so? I was under the impression that your affairs were more… clandestine.” His eyes, a brighter green than his outfit, light up, cutting through the shadow. “Not a fan of masquerades then, I’d wager?”

She leans back against the tree trunk, letting her white hair, made of moonlight, fall in a semi-circle on the ground around her. The shadows around the clearing darken in contrast, as if the light is being siphoned from them. The Traveler, to his credit, doesn’t flinch, remaining where he is with his hands shoved casually in his pockets. His eyes disappear- hiding more of his expression.

Squinting through the darkness she’s created, Sehanine can see the grass around the Traveler’s feet curling inward, around his boots, and turning brown at their edges. Interesting, for a trickster deity. Perhaps there are more facets to this Traveler than she’s anticipated.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that I’m being mocked.”

He chuckles, a low sound that doesn’t fit him, and sweeps into a bow. “I meant no offense, my lady.”

“Prove it to me.” She crosses her arms and doesn’t approach, waiting until he straightens continue, “Pull down your hood.”

His smile widens- almost surprised- and his eyes appear again, sparkling in the brighter moonlight. He laughs and takes a few steps closer, stopping just outside of her circle.

“So insistent. Very well.” Slowly, dramatically, he reaches up to pull down the hood and lifts his face to meet her eyes. He looks human, with tousled brown curls and a mess of freckles on pale skin. “Happy?”

She narrows her eyes, sensing the illusion but not able to peer through it. “That’s not your real face.”

“Are real faces of any consequence for _gods_?” He laughs again and his face changes, features rearranging themselves to an older man, an elf, and back to the original. It’s not exactly the same, as he clearly struggles to recreate the specifics of a face he’s just invented.

“Your ignorance can be excused, since you’re new.” She reaches out and, when he doesn’t pull away, trails a hand over his cheek. “Immortality is about permanence, not impermanence. Your followers may not be content to worship an empty cloak.”

“We’ll see about that.” He doesn’t sound concerned, and his face doesn’t give anything away, maintaining his default smile, always mischievous.

She moves her hand up, brushing through his hair. “I’m sure your real face is just as charming.”

“Of that, I have no doubts.” His voice is uncertain, like he’s trying to puzzle out her intentions- and failing.

“It’s not insecurity, then.” Putting her hand down, she steps back and tries to find a clue she might’ve missed. “You’re someone we’d recognize.”

He pauses, expression carefully frozen, then his grin grows and he moves closer, into her moonlight. “You’re more clever than you let on.”

“I’m good at getting people to tell me more than they mean to.”

He sighs, an exaggerated sound. Disguising something- his voice, maybe. “I was hoping this would be more pleasant, considering our similarities, but I think it’d be in my best interest to get to the point. Before I’m unwittingly interrogated further.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Traveler; I like you. That’s why I’m so curious about you.”

“That’ll make this easier. Usually, I have to work harder to build up good faith.”

He’s selling himself short, not using his obvious leverage. It may have benefitted him somewhat, but she appreciates what he’s done for Mollymauk- one of her dear ones, highly ranked among the great mischief-makers despite his short life. The whole affair has been kept quiet, but Sehanine can’t think of another god who would arrange for Molly, of all people, to be brought back to life in an under the table deal. For now, she’s more than happy to hear this Traveler out- if not to return the favor, then to satisfy her own curiosity.

It’s time to start calling bluffs, or they’ll be dancing in circles all night. Not to say she’s entirely opposed to that. “You’ve already done a lot for me. Your assistance with Mollymauk did not go unnoticed.”

“Wonderful.” He fidgets with his hair, curling a short strand around his finger. The movement implies that he’s accustomed to longer hair, something more substantial to fuss with. “In that case, I’m here to cash in a favor.”

Sehanine sits, sliding down the tree and patting the ground beside her. Cautiously, the Traveler takes the spot she indicates. His attention is on her, but there’s a subtle tension in his shoulders; he’s probably not used to doing this sort of thing with his face- even a false one- showing.

“I should warn you that my influence is not as extensive as those of the gods you’ve been trading with lately.” She gestures across the small clearing- nestled in a secluded forest with clear skies, on the outskirts of Deastok- that she’s calling home, for the time being. “I’m not harboring souls or infinite knowledge.”

“Actually, I need help specific to your domain. Or, rather, my followers do.” He can’t seem to settle on an expression, landing awkwardly between nervous and stoic. “My favorite follower’s party… let’s just say they’re challenged in the romance department.”

She’s familiar with his “favorite”- the cute tiefling girl that Molly is fond of. The Traveler’s assessment isn’t wrong, but he’s severely misguided if he’s come here for advice.

“Your girl certainly doesn’t need my guidance. She gets enough of my particular brand in her… reading material.”

He shrugs, face unreadable. “Better than nothing.”

It’s a weird favor to ask, and weirder to ask it of her. Her and the Traveler are tangentially aligned through Jester and Mollymauk, but other than that, and their intersecting domains, they have no reason to associate. It’s most likely that he’s just shopping around for allies, as Ioun theorized.

He wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with. There aren’t many willing or able to pull one over on Sehanine, which makes the Traveler and his illusions all the more fascinating. It’s hypocritical of her, but she feels that she has to see behind the disguise, find out who he really is- or _was_. It could be worth doing a few favors, in her spare time.

“Tell you what,” she tries not to smile when he leans in eagerly, hands on his knees, “Jester could use a matchmaker. Molly isn’t very skilled in that area, but their little friend- what was her name?”

“Nott?”

“Yes, that one. She could be of some help, with my blessing.”

The Traveler hums and pulls up his hood, absentmindedly adding a layer between himself and their conversation. “She’s not especially religious. Not yet, anyway.”

“She doesn’t need to be. I don’t usually do this for non-followers, but I can make an exception,” Sehanine shrugs, and takes another look under the hood, but finds only the shadows in place once again, “as a sign of good-will.”

The Traveler looks up at the moon, giving himself an excuse to hesitate, then makes up his mind, standing and bending down, hand out. “Sounds like a deal. Shake?”

She frowns, pretending to consider, but takes his hand. His hands are small, and the gloves are satin- _mostly_ satin. The material is strange, much smoother than any fabric on the physical plane, like water woven into cloth.

As soon as the shake is done, the Traveler disappears in a flash of green light, leaving Sehanine with her hand out to no one. A faint giggle echoes through the clearing, carried on a distant breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so trickster meets trickster. Honestly, I could've written a whole fic on just these two trying to out-prank each other, but I'm focusing on the Traveler helping out the M9, for now. Quick point of order: this was written before the most recent episode, but it's much funnier with the new context.


	5. The Great Leviathan

Who would’ve guessed, it’s fucking freezing at the bottom of the ocean. And wet, but that’s more obvious- and there aren’t degrees of wet to descend. The Traveler expected cold but not _this_ much cold.

It doesn’t matter- he’s here, and he’s going to get this done. Preferably without having any unpleasant encounters with tentacles.

He’s deep in the ocean- deeper than exists on the mortal planes- where everything is darkness. There’s not a living creature in sight, aside from the obvious. Set in the ocean floor is a massive pit, filled with writhing tentacles and countless yellow eyes. The eyes are the only light in the vicinity, giving off a slight glow.

A rhythmic clinking and squelching fill the space, sound oddly clear for being underwater. The tentacles- sliding against each other with the slick, sickening sound of wet rubber against rubber- are bound with chains, and struggling against them. An iron grate covers the pit, locking the beast in the ground.

Overhead, where the surface of the ocean should be, there is a lens into the world of dry land. It’s a top down view of… a cave? Somewhere with lava- significantly warmer than here, at least. The angle is strange, looking down on the scene yet it’s positioned above them, like a warped mirror.

In the center of the lens is Jester’s half-orc friend. The first one she met- Fjord, if the Traveler remembers correctly. With the amount of names he’s expected to remember these days, it’s a minor miracle he’s kept up at all so far. 

Fjord’s holding up his sword, pointed towards his chest. It’s morbidly fascinating- the Traveler almost wants to watch, to find out what’s going to happen, but the light of Uk’otoa’s eyes shifts in his direction, noticing his presence.

The Traveler drifts forward, hesitant to approach. Every step (if it can be called that, underwater) makes him impossibly colder, the chill digging through layers of skin down to bone. The cold is an unfortunate side effect, but a necessity- if he wants to draw Uk’otoa’s attention away, he’ll have to be in line of sight.

The eyes all move as one, locking on him when he gets close enough and crouches at the edge of the pit. They squint in a way he imagines would accompany a _What the fuck are you doing here?_ or _How did you get here?_ if it were so eloquent.

He wouldn’t be able to answer one of those questions- how, precisely, he ended up at the bottom of the sea is a mystery to him. All he knows is he wanted to be here, so he is now. Travelling, it’s part of the name, part of the package he’s unwittingly opened. He might’ve chosen something cooler, if he’d known he’d be getting themed abilities, but there’s no time for regrets when he’s got a monstrous demigod to distract.

“Hello!” He waves, buying time to figure out how to make conversation with something that reportedly only knows a handful of words. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Uk’otoa.”

The eyes narrow again and its chains creak ominously as it settles its weight to angle more towards the Traveler.

 **Watching**.

 _Oh, good. It_ can _speak._

Speaking is a strong word for it; the voice echoes in his skull, inserting itself directly into his thoughts. Unnerving, to put it mildly.

“Yes, I’ve been watching you,” he intentionally misinterprets, wondering if this thing is capable of getting pissed off. He’s about to find out. “I’m making the rounds, chatting with a bunch of gods, but I found you, in particular, _fascinating_.”

He pauses, in case it has anything to add, then continues, “See, I thought I’d have more luck with something off the beaten path. Convention has never really been my thing.”

 **Potential**.

It’s difficult, in the face of genuine eldritch horror, but the Traveler forces a laugh. He’s managed more impossible feats. “Thanks, I do have a lot of potential- and so do you! Which is why we should make a deal.”

Now that he’s close, peering over the edge and into the darkness, he realizes he was wrong. There aren’t tentacles- it’s all one massive serpentine _thing_ , tangled and knotted over itself infinitely. No beginning and no end, just scaly, slimy lengths of creature, covered in eyes.

 **Reward**.

The Traveler blinks, like he’s trying to understand, like it even matters what it’s trying to tell him. “Ah, you want to know what’s in it for you? Never fear, my new friend, I have something you desperately desire.”

While he’s talking, he risks a glance up at the lens. Fjord is holding the falchion out over the lava, its blade now soaked in blood. He’s talking, but no sound comes through. Probably for the best- the Traveler has a feeling that getting Uk’otoa’s attention won’t be as helpful as Fjord thinks, at the moment.

The Traveler’s own attention needs to be on magic, on making this look as convincing as possible. He’s conjured a lot of illusions in his time- a _lot_ , seriously- but this one needs to fool hundreds of eyes, the perceptive abilities of which he doesn’t know. A performance, to distract from any inconsistences, is key.

He slips his hand out of his sleeve with a flourish, then opens his cloak, just enough to stick his hand inside and dig around- as if there was a vast space, filled with many artifacts, instead of empty pockets. When he can’t stall any more, he pulls his hand out, muttering under his breath so he now “holds” the illusory image of a yellow orb, with a vertical pupil.

Calling it an illusion is almost a misnomer- it’s not nearly as paltry as magic a mortal could create. It’s as close to real as something that isn’t actually there can get. Godhood has its perks, after all- though, tricks like this were available to him before, their quality only slightly improved by new power.

If anything could see through it, it’d be this ancient being of many eyes, but the eyes only widen and the whole thing moves, like it’s leaning forward to look more closely.

The Traveler pulls the orb back, but he’s pretty sure Uk’otoa has no way of breaking the chains to snatch it. Before it can lose interest, he hurries to spin his story, “You and your followers are clever, I’ll give you that, but you had to know that these orbs aren’t unique to this plane, right? I can go places none of the hapless mortals you employ ever could.”

He’s bluffed on less information before, and this is pretty low stakes. Worst case, he bails, and gets more sad journal entries from Jester about Fjord’s problems with Uk’otoa. Which, granted, is still something he would like to avoid.

He holds the orb in one hand, examining it, as he walks along the edge of the pit. The eyes follow his every move and he takes them entirely away from the lens, until they’re straining to watch the glow of the orb. “I could bring this to one of your… temples without breaking a sweat. I’d just like to know what, specifically, you could do for me.”

The chains creak again, rattling as the leviathan wriggles in place, immeasurable body sliding over itself. Knots tighten and loosen, its self-imposed stranglehold never coming undone.

**Patience.**

That’s an interesting one. The Traveler doesn’t have to pretend to have no idea what that means. He makes a guess, anyway- what’s the fun in admitting you don’t know something? “I can’t afford to wait long. I’ve gotten a lot of offers for my services- I’m sort of a big deal.”

He’s looking forward to the one-word zinger that’ll follow, but he doesn’t get a chance to hear it as the chamber heats up, water coming a boiling point in under a second. He whips around, to look at the lens, and sees the eyes do the same. There’s a flash of lava- fire, so much fire- then a vine stretches across it, taking away their view. More leaves- seaweed- grow over the lens, effectively blocking Uk’otoa’s window to the world above.

The chains clank violently and something _snaps_. Uk’otoa surges against the grate, but the bars hold, not budging even under its substantial weight.

**Provoke. Run. Punish.**

He definitely understands the sentiment of that one- although he refuses to suffer the indignity of running.

Another metallic clang- the sound of metal being yanked out of place, of chain scraping against rock- and the Traveler disappears in a cloud of green smoke, stepping backward through the water, and onto dry land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Traveler pov, as a treat. Love this guy.


	6. The Wildmother

Melora’s only just welcomed Caduceus when she notices a presence invading her domain, and looks up to find a green cloak. It nearly blends in with the dense foliage, plants of various, somewhat improbable origins converging around where she sits against a mountainside. His dark boots are disguised by tree roots and the green fabric is unbroken by skin, hood low over the figure’s face.

The Traveler. She’s heard many things about him- not all of them good.

“Sorry to interrupt, but,” he steps forward to put a hand on Caduceus’ other shoulder, the one she’s not holding, “I’m here to bring this one back.”

He’s telling the truth- Melora can feel her hold on Caduceus weakening as he’s pulled back towards the world of the living. Somewhere, a tiefling is crying, and Caduceus’ body is waiting, still warm.

Death is part of the cycle of life, part of what’s necessary to keep nature in balance, and it can be difficult to find a place for resurrection in that cycle, as they can never be sure when someone’s time is up. Bringing someone back from death is always a risk, but she knows Caduceus can do more good, that his journey isn’t over yet. That isn’t unique to him, per se, but he’s also got particularly determined friends and a young god on his side- which tips the balance in his favor.

The Traveler seems to take her quiet for hesitation, because he waves a hand, creating a shower of bright green energy. “Don’t worry. I’m authorized, this time.”

The implications of that are daunting- but easy enough to ignore. Letting Caduceus go is simple- he’s already halfway back to his own plane- and the Traveler goes with him, disappearing with a swish of green fabric.

Melora may only be familiar with the Traveler through rumor, but she knows she won’t be getting out of a meeting with him so easily. Sensing there’s more to come- and a high potential for the sort of shenanigans inherent in trickster gods- she pours herself a cup of tea, settling against a moss-covered rock. All the plants around her bend inward, attracted to her presence and prepared to act on her command. This place is just a slice of nature- the nicer, softer elements, suitable for guests- but it’s hers all the same.

She gives it five minutes before the Traveler returns- he beats her, arriving in just two. Less subtle the second time around, materializing out of a tangle of vines, parted to make a doorway. It pulls together behind him, sparking green.

He grins at her, through the shadow of his hood. “Apologies, for the second intrusion, but I wanted to make sure we didn’t get off on the wrong foot.”

“You mean you wanted to speak with the next god on your to-do list?”

The shadows shift, darkening and covering his entire face, not quite fast enough to mask his smile widening. “Do I look like the type to have a to-do list? I’m not that organized, darling.”

“It’s not a complicated pattern to recognize, and it makes sense to start with the gods you’re most familiar with.” She summons another tea cup, lifted on a vine to where the Traveler is standing. “It is in our nature to seek the company of those similar to us.”

At her nod towards the ground, he sits down with the tea cup, holding it but not drinking. He’s sitting deliberately out of reach, farther away than he should for polite conversation. Melora can’t get a read on what he’s thinking, but she sits back and sips from her own cup. It will all become clear with time.

“I’ve been meaning to chat with you for quite a while, but now that you’re the new majority in Jester’s crew, I’m out of excuses to put it off. That, and today’s life-or-death trouble, inspired me to pay a visit.”

The nonchalance feels forced, every word floating on superficial airiness. There’s no way to tell which parts he really means, but she’s not here to interrogate him. Granted, it’ll be hard to have a conversation if they’re constantly dancing around some truth that she’s not privy to, but she’ll work it out.

“Not just to congratulate me, I imagine?” She stirs her tea, changing the flavor minutely with every sip. She’s still perfecting this one, and a good tea takes a lot of experimenting. “You want something.”

“Why does everyone always tell me that?”

“Perhaps because you’ve made a habit of asking favors, and making deals?”

He snaps his fingers and his smile appears again. “ _That’s_ it. Mystery solved, I guess.”

She smiles- he’s as amusing as the others said. Word has gotten around remarkably fast about this new god, and she can see why. The novelty of his existence is outweighed by the force of his personality, and the strangeness therein.

After a moment- long enough to serve as a transition, but not long enough for Melora to interrupt- he scoots closer and leans in, like he’s sharing a secret, “I actually came here to thank you.”

She raises an eyebrow- he doesn’t need more prompting than that. The Traveler fidgets, and the greenery reacts to his energy, tiny wildflowers blooming in a circle around him. The leaves in the trees above him start to turn, hints of vibrant oranges and yellows creeping across their surfaces.

“Your influence has been very encouraging for our heroes. First, Caduceus on his mission and now Fjord, through his crisis of faith.” He turns, looking around the clearing. Even when he tips his head up, toward the warm sunlight, the hood manages to hide everything above his mouth. “I can see why they’ve converted. You have a lovely place here.”

“Happy to be of help.” She tilts her head, looking closer. It’s foolish to bother trying to find a face in the shadows, but her eyes trace his tense shoulders, and his hands, fussing with the teacup. There’s something here that she’s not seeing- but the only way to find out is to ask, so she takes a shot, at the first thing she can think of, “Are you disappointed that Fjord didn’t choose you?”

“No,” he snorts and shakes his head- immediate enough to be genuine, not calculated like all his other carefully chosen words, “I didn’t care who he chose.”

“Just that he chose?”

He shrugs and drains the tea in his cup. “The giant tentacle monster didn’t seem like a healthy path to follow.”

It’s unclear how much of the devil-may-care attitude is a façade. His lies, if that’s what they are, are effortless, but there must be some concern hidden beneath them. He wouldn’t go to such lengths if that weren’t the case.

She could be looking at the wrong target for his concerns. In her conversations with others gods, and in her own idle observation, she’s heard of Jester Lavorre- the veritable champion of the Traveler, if he bothered with such formalities. The center of this little adventuring group that a chunk of the pantheon has found themselves invested in, to varying degrees.

Intervening with an ancient being on behalf of a friend is definitely something an emotional, friendly cleric would do- but is less characteristic of a young god, with no reason to become involved.

“Did Jester tell you that?”

He pauses before answering, going completely still to counteract his restlessness. The flowers wilt, slightly, and the leaves continue to turn. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Melora nods, agreeing with him, and presses, “But she brought it to your attention.”

“Jester cares for her friends, and I care for her.” His smile flickers, turning to a frown, and he holds the tea cup up to cover it. “She’s my first disciple, and my most important.”

_First?_ She knew the Traveler was young, but taking less than a tielfing’s lifetime to amass so much power? Impossible, were it not sitting in front of her. It occurs to her that their mistake may have been assuming a _mortal_ has risen this far, this quickly without their knowledge.

She hopes her surprise doesn’t show on her face- it’d be terribly rude, to be so preoccupied during their conversation. “While we’re speaking of Fjord, I should be thanking _you_. Your distraction was helpful- although, I get the impression that your little favor was meant to go unnoticed.”

The Traveler hesitates, as if undecided on what he should address first. She refills his cup, to give him something to do while he considers his response. It doesn’t look like he appreciates it, which is a shame.

“Why wouldn’t I want the credit?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you want the credit?”

Reading a face she can’t see is challenging, but she’d describe the silence as baffled, if she had to guess. Sometimes, getting someone to start thinking is better than having a rational conversation in the first place. Confusion is necessary, more often than not.

The Traveler takes a long sip from his tea and she copies him, keeping an eye over the rim of her cup.

“I’m just glad to work with my fellow gods,” he starts, despite obviously not knowing where he’s going from there, making it up word by word, “I hope this will be a good start to any future, uh… interactions.”

She lifts her teacup, to toast. “To new friendship.”

He clinks his cup against hers, cautiously, and puts it down after, without drinking. Another curious look, studying her, and he stands, shaking nonexistent dirt from his cloak.

“I believe this has been enlightening for both of us,” putting his hands in his pockets, he takes another look around, then turns completely, back to the tree he emerged from, “but it’s time for me to take my leave. Urgent matters to attend to, you know how it is.”

She nods sagely and tries not to smile- she doesn’t want him to take it the wrong way, but it’s delightful to watch him fumble, figuring out how to do this god thing. Her own memories of coming into existence, into godhood, are too faint to compare, but she feels a kinship anyway.

“If you need any aid in the future, I’m always available. We have mutual friends, after all.”

He nods, not convinced, and opens up the tree, slipping back into Exandria to carry out new chaos.

The Traveler is shaping up to be more than just interesting. Regardless of how he came to be, who he was, or why he’s here, Melora is happy to have him. She’s excited to see what he’s going to do with his new power, who he’s going to be, and why he’s decided to stick around- provided he does.

With any luck, she’ll get to guide that process. Forming a god is big, even to someone like her. The past has taught them a lot about division, and its dangers; they’ve learned, through spilled blood, that it’s best to foster peace from the start.

It’s in their nature to help their own- and Melora certainly has no qualms about adhering to her nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melora! Love this lady and her plants- I gave her a bit of Caduceus, with the tea drinking and insight, but I think it fits. 
> 
> Sorry for getting this out late! I've been busy with college starting, but you should expect the last chapter soon. Its subject is not quite a god... but they're just as important.


	7. The Little Sapphire

“I just don’t know how I can help him.”

The Traveler reclines on Jester’s bed, hood and disguise down for first time in a long time. Jester is upright at edge of the bed, an uncharacteristically worried expression on her face.

“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

Jester huffs, clearly unconvinced, and falls backward, draping herself over the Traveler’s midsection. He puts a hand on her hair, between her horns, in silent support for a dilemma he doesn’t fully understand.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jester closes her eyes, and her mouth twists into a frown, muffling her voice, “but we don’t always _help_ , you know? Sometimes, I make things worse.”

“ _Technically_ ,” he starts, mimicking her voice perfectly- usually, that makes her laugh, but today, she stays quiet, “it’s me that doesn’t always do the right thing.”

“Technically, I’m your follower, so-“

“So _nothing_ , Jester. You’re your own person.” He sits up, nudging her to do the same, and pulls her into a hug. Against her shoulder, he says, quietly, “You’re the most compassionate, kind person I know. I wouldn’t use the same adjectives for myself.”

He lets her go and Jester pulls away, looking to the side, out the window of her room. He’s aware that she has mixed feelings about this room- he almost gets it, understands the irritation of being trapped- but he can’t help feeling happy every time they’re here, their original hunting grounds where he was just an imaginary friend. Just Jester’s best friend, without all the complications of power and gods.

“If I can’t even help my friends-” She cuts off as her voice wavers, like it always does when she’s holding back tears.

He swings his legs around to be beside her, then abandons the bed altogether, lifting off the ground to hover in front of her. “There’s still time to try. Don’t give up so soon.”

Her frown deepens and he takes it up a notch, turning himself upside down and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. It wouldn’t be hard to control it, but he lets his hair fall in a straight line towards the ground- silly enough to earn a laugh from Jester, whose sense of humor has not changed nearly as much as she claims it has.

“We just need to brainstorm,” he insists, pushing some of the hair out of his face, “Everybody likes fun. Give him a little fun!”

“Caleb doesn’t like pranks.”

“It doesn’t have to be a _prank_.” He gets a suspicious look for his trouble, so he turns the right way round, fixing her with an indignant stare that he struggles to maintain with any degree of seriousness. “What? Plenty of the things you do aren’t pranks. They’re just- I don’t know the word.”

Cheer incarnate, is what he wants to say, but it doesn’t feel helpful, and it’s a little sappy. Instead, he sets off a handful of multicolored sparks- which illustrates his point just as well. It makes Jester laugh, the dark cloud lifting from her expression.

Jester hums, contemplating, and pulls out her notebook, tapping a pencil against the spine. “I know what he likes,” she doodles as she talks, sketching out each item, “He loves his cat, and books, and magic. He likes us.”

The Traveler leans over her notebook, nodding along. “Those are great starting points.”

“But he _doesn’t_ like attention, or gifts, or parties.”

“I can see why you’re having trouble.” He settles on the bed next to her, and summons his own pencil, sketching a tiny party hat with an X through it. “Just something small, then. Visiting a bookstore, maybe?”

Jester’s nose scrunches up, and she gives him another incredulous raised eyebrow. “Sounds boring.”

He can’t argue with her there. He’d never want to do something like that, not for just a smile, or a more tolerable level of angst but- well, he’s been running around doing unnecessary favors for the last few months, just because he thought it was something Jester would appreciate. And her friends too, he supposes.

He might be going soft. It’s a possibility he’s refusing to acknowledge.

“Sometimes the boring thing is the right thing.” He whispers in her ear, conspiratorially, “Or so they tell me.”

She smiles, just a flash, but it transforms into a pout, as she concentrates on a new drawing. It’s her and Caleb, standing with books all around them- a comical number of books, overflowing the shelves and piled in leaning stacks. After another few minutes of silence, aside from the scratching of the pencil, she adds a stack of books perched precariously on her head, and a tiny smile on Caleb’s face.

Not looking up from her drawing, she says, too quietly for human ears, “It feels like putting a bandage on a stab wound. Like I’ll never really make a difference.”

“Jester, my dear,” he sighs, brushing back her hair, gently, “a scar is never removed. We can simply ease its aches, from time to time.”

She sniffs and wipes her eyes, taking the green handkerchief the Traveler offers, produced out of thin air. “You’ll help me, right?”

“Always, darling.”

Jester grins, brilliant- the source of unending joy, a deep well that even he can’t fathom. Nothing he’s seen, on all the continents and planes he’s travelled, has ever topped this brightness. Jester’s happiness is infectious, hopping from person to person and spreading, an infinite web stretching over the places she’s been. It meets no resistance, even from an archfey with an underdeveloped sense of empathy.

She’s opened a door for him, a door he hadn’t even known existed, to greater purpose, to genuine fondness he wasn’t capable of before.

In a sense, she’s bested him. If this were a competition, surely her followers would outnumber his own- all of those people she’s made laugh, and the people they made laugh in return, inspired by her. Even in the simplest ways, he’s certain she’s made an impact. If only because a shopkeeper came home with a new anecdote about a mischievous tiefling, or a fellow traveler made an unexpected friend, or a stranger down on their luck had a rare, good day.

All that, and helping to stop a war by determinedly befriending the stoic wizard of an invading army. Cheering up Caleb should be a walk in the park, after that, but Jester’s mind and her compassion is an enigma the Traveler hasn’t totally unraveled.

He hopes he’ll be able to stick around to discover more mysteries, more layers. He hopes to see Jester grow, see her happy, see her smiling for as long as she lives. Longer, if she’d want to.

He’ll do what it takes- even if that means playing nice with gods, paying attention to her friends, or learning a little kindness. Even if it means accidentally finding new friendships, or forming an unwanted sense of responsibility for mortals he barely knows. Even if it meant giving it all up-

All the gods in the world couldn’t compare to this. Jester has been and always will be the only alliance he needs. The only _friend_ he needs.

If she needs a god, he’ll give her a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little OOC, in light of recent events, but I wanted something sweet, so I turned up the Traveler's niceness a little. Consider it an AU, if you'd like- after all, if anyone were to convert an immortal archfey into a decent guy, it'd be Jester. 
> 
> I've had this fanfiction in the works for ages but haven't gotten around to finishing it until recently. The first snippets of this were written before the Traveler's identity was revealed- which resulted in no small amount of rewriting. Still, I'm pretty happy with the final result, and I hope you were too! Leave a comment to let me know- and thank you for all the wonderful comments so far! They've been a joy to read :)


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